


High

by Ijustwannaread



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pre-Series, Recreational Drug Use, Stanford Era, Winchester Boys/Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:22:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustwannaread/pseuds/Ijustwannaread
Summary: Sam and Dean experienced drugs separately five times throughout their lives. (AKA Five Times Sam and Dean Got High Alone and One Time They Did it Together)





	1. Sam + Rohypnol

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this was written by two people who don't really do hard drugs so there's that. Make of it what you will. Honestly can't explain why this exists, but now it does. (Let's say it's an interesting way to explore coping mechanisms and codependence and angst in two screwed-up characters.)
> 
> But like, don't do drugs, kids. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: This first chapter includes non-consensual drug use.

Jess was acutely aware of the man staring at her across the hazy college bar as she sidled up to the bartender and ordered a beer. The bartender didn’t card her, and she wasn’t surprised. She was wearing her low cut tank top with the tiger on it, which definitely didn’t fit in with the designer label look of many of the other new Stanford college crowd. She wore it as an emblem to her outsider status, even though she was also desperately trying to fit in. Her roommate had offered her one of her myriad slick black dresses, and Jess was grateful but declined. 

It was orientation week, and Jess and her roommate had actually hit it off. They wanted to skip out on the lamer of the college activities and freshman nonsense, and were feeling pretty self congratulatory for winding up in a decent bar, with mainly upperclassmen. Jess’s roommate Isabella was from Beverly Hills, and had one too many wild phases in high school to be attracted to the shine of college orientation stupidity, and Jess herself, being from the boondocks of Pennsylvania, had spent enough hours chugging beers in basements to feel much like it either. Nope, they were classy chicks tonight. 

Or so Jess thought. The lecherous looks of the various gawkers were starting to feel a bit stale already, so she started to scope out some guys she might be able to actually talk to. A few football players here, and a group of well-dressed douchebags, the nerds. Jess couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when she saw the tallest, scraggliest motherfucker she’d ever seen playing pool with another guy she recognized from her dorm hall. His outfit, in all of its thrift store flavored glory, reminded her of her little brother’s wardrobe. That was the end of the comparison to her little brother, though, because Jess was pretty sure this guy was one of the hottest people she’d ever laid eyes on. 

Naturally, she challenged him to a game of pool. 

“You better not try to hustle me.” She warned, smiling. 

“Same goes to you,” he said, carefully, obviously gauging her reaction. She liked that. She liked that he probably actually knew she could hustle the crap out of him, and he wasn’t wrong. 

After two rounds, (she kicked his ass on the first one, he recovered respectably on the second), an electric blue drink was placed on the side of the pool table by the bar tender. 

“The gentleman in the corner requested I send you this, on the house,” he said, clearly wishing he’d thought of the idea first. Jess thanked him, although she’d had a couple of drinks and was having a hard time not laughing a bit at how his jet black hair was breaking free of its massive slop of hair gel and bouncing wildly. She caught her Isabella’s eye from where she was sipping lazily on her third mojito and chatting up a red-haired woman and Isabella shouted over the buzz of the bar, “Checks out, babe, watched him mix it from here!” She threw up two thumbs up. Jess snorted, and turned back to Sam. 

“You really sure about that?” He asked, scrunching his nose a bit and looking at the drink like it might grow legs and kick Jess in the shins. 

“Well, I’m for sure not interested in the guy who sent it, but it’s a free and Izzy checked it out and everything. Only real problem is I hate sissy drinks like this,” She said. It was true, she thought drinks like this were an embarrassing use of good vodka. 

“Trade?” She asked, mainly to pick on Sam. He breathed out a laugh, and then realized she was serious. Todd, his friend from earlier, punched him on the arm and said, “Dare you.” Sam shoved him playfully and then motioned impatiently towards the blue abomination. 

“Seriously?” Jess laughed, handing it to him. “What a true man,”  Sam turned a bit pink, and then finished the drink in one impressive long swallow. Their whole group cheered and Jess had to yell over the excitement, “Heeey, that’s cheating!” To which Sam gave a goofy little shrug. They passed another fifteen minutes thinking of the next girliest drink on the menu to order for one of the football players as a prank, but Jess got impatient.

“Best two out of three?” She challenged, Sam, poking his ribs to get his attention. 

“I think I’m gonna have to pass if I-” Jess tried her best to listen to the end of this sentence, but it came out as more of a jumbled mess than actual words. Her smile slid a little bit, and she instantly felt more sober than she was. 

“What?” She asked him, grabbing his arm a bit to turn him to face her fully. 

“I’m …. Tired… gonna get my ass handed to me again…” He said, once again sounding more like word salad that a complete thought. 

“Shit, major lightweight, are we?” She asked, although it felt off to her. She’d spent basically all night with him, and he’d only had a couple of beers and her drink. 

“Shit.” Jess repeated. “Todd!” Todd didn’t hear her at first so she yelled louder, which turned some heads. “Todd! How much did Sam drink?” She asked, annoyed at how long it took for Todd to recover from his surprise and answer. 

“Like two?” He said, shrinking back from her a bit. Jess was briefly glad that guys weren’t used to chicks being as aggressive as she was, because it usually got her what she wanted quicker when they didn’t have their wits about them. She turned her attention back to Sam, who was bobbing gently entirely off beat of the music with a goofy smile on his face. Jess, now feeling completely sober, saw another girl looking ready to approach them to talk and felt how she imagined a lioness felt protecting her den. 

“Sam! Let’s get out of here.” She said, leaving no room for argument. 

“Jess! Jessica, Jessica Moore, I am so glad I met you,” Sam said earnestly, still slurring his words. Something warm stirred in the pit of Jess’s stomach, but she stamped that feeling down, and grabbed his beer instead of responding directly. 

“I am officially cutting you off, Sam Winchester,” she declared, and took a short pull on his beer before setting on down on a booth and leading him to the door. He was like leading a huge newborn horse, towering over her but walking haltingly. She passed Isabella and her new friend, and basically hissed her name. Isabella, thank god, had social perception coming out of her ass, so she instantly came over.

“What’s up?” She asked, her brow furrowing when she saw how far gone Sam looked. 

“He drank that drink the guy sent, I think we missed it, they must have put something in it” Isabella nicely helped lead Sam along, but made no attempt to hide a desperate snort of laughter. 

“Oh my god, he got roofied!” She laughed, and Jess couldn’t help but crack a nervous smile. Isabella threw back her knot of dark brown hair and pulled herself together after Jess smacked her a bit across Sam’s broad chest. Sam, for his part, didn’t seem to mind or even notice. 

“No, I know, I know, it’s bad. Hey, but wait! Kat, turns out she’s an EMT!” Jess raised an eyebrow, but Isabella was already beckoning to Kat, who immediately came over, clearly smitten already. Their intrepid foursome emerged from the din of the bar onto the warm, breezy night. 

“Jess, this is Kat. Kat, we need your help with this one” Isabella said bluntly.

“Hi, Kat! This is Sam and I think I got him roofied.” Jess blurted. Kat ran her hands through her short hair and blew out a breath, turning serious. 

“Yikes.” She said. “Hey, Sam? I’m gonna take your pulse, okay?” 

“Knock yourself out,” Sam replied, or Jess thought that was what she heard him garble. “This is just like that time in Tallahassee with the poltergeist…” He continued, and the three women immediately exchanged worried looks. Kat looked at her watch and then at Jess. 

“Okay, his pulse is racing, I’m gonna say he definitely had a spiked drink,” Jess ran her fingers through her hair anxiously, and Kat squeezed her shoulder. “You guys Stanford students, too?” Jess nodded and Sam bobbed his head lazily in what could be interpreted as an affirmative. 

“Got money for a cab?” 

+++

When Jess looks back on that night months later, it comes to her a strange mixture of hilarity and peril. She laughs when she remembers maneuvering Sam with Kat and Isabella like he was a weird oversized teddy bear. She shakes her head to think of how he was too incoherent to tell them where he lived, so he ended up sleeping (read: passing out)  in her room. She feels cold when she remembers Kat telling her how lucky she was Sam drank it, because if she’d had the drink herself that high a dose would have sent her to a new realm, if it managed to knock Sam on his ass. 

He had woken up the next morning obviously feeling like ten miles of bad road. She hadn’t slept. 

She explained everything over coffee. It was their first date.  

  



	2. Dean + Cocaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cocaine
> 
> Set during Stanford Era, because this is the prime for Dean Angst™ .

Dean has just turned twenty-two, and it’s the first time that instead of feeling that fleeting birthday euphoria, he just feels old. 

One year ago today, he was sitting in a bar with his father and Sam; he’d purchased his first legal shot of bourbon in yet another seedy roadside bar in Nowheresville, USA. It was special though, he remembers, because his father had smiled and looked almost proud in the dim lighting, and because Sammy had laughed when he’d teased him about being a non-legal shrimp. Sam hadn’t laughed a lot in those days. It was a victory. 

Today, he’s once again in a seedy roadside bar in either one of the Carolinas- he can’t remember if he passed the border or not yet on his drive north towards a vampire situation in Pennsylvania. The plan is to meet his father in Gettysburg. Maybe somewhere deep, deep down Dean wants his father to express even the slightest interest in his birthday, but obviously his Selkie hunt in Long Island is more important. Obviously. 

He probably couldn’t be farther away from Sam at the moment without literally driving the Impala into the ocean. It’s Sam’s second semester at Stanford, and Dean’s going on five months of trying not to feel like he’s been betrayed. It’s been five months since his father has even uttered his little brother’s name, and he’s stuck in limbo between wanting to join John in pretending he’s an only child and wanting to head west and make sure Sam’s doing okay, and tell him he’s happy that he actually went out and did what no other hunter Dean has ever met could do. He got out of the system. Dean is maybe angry, but he’s also in awe, and maybe a little proud. 

He’s also currently very, very aware of how alone he is. He has no allies in this state, much less anyone who cares that it’s his birthday, or cares where he got the massive shiner currently adorning his right eye. It hurts like a bitch, and he hastily grabs a shot of bourbon from the bartender to take the edge off. 

The second the burning drink is down his throat, he just feels tired. Tired of drinking the nights away before crawling off to the inevitably shitty motel down the road, and tired of planning the next hunt. The only thing he seems to have the energy to do right now is his longest lasting hobby: worrying about Sam. Did he even survive his first semester at that prissy, elite school of his? Does he have friends? Does he still hear John’s horrible words ringing in his ears, telling him never to come back? 

Does he miss his family?

He orders a second shot. He wants to find some quiet in his head, but the alcohol just seems to keep the noise going strong. After the third shot, the questions swirling around are swirling with such force that he waves the bartender off when he asks if he wants another. Last year, alcohol was a landmark commodity; his legal drunkenness was a beautiful spectacle. Now, it’s a stale relic of a better time that isn’t coming back. 

Suddenly, Dean is very aware that he has fifty dollars in his pocket and a friend- well, acquaintance, maybe more of a contact- just thirty miles down the interstate that he knows with complete certainty can provide him with the chemical equivalent of some birthday cheer. It’s beyond stupid, but he’s twenty-two, his father doesn’t give a shit and his brother isn’t here. It’ll be his present to himself, he thinks. He deserves this, goddammit. 

 

\---

 

An hour later, and Dean is knocking on the door of the RV belonging to Dave, a kind-hearted tweaker he and his father had saved from a witch a year ago. 

Dave answers the door, looking just as rough as he had when they’d met the poor sap. Dean had strangely liked him; he had seemed relieved more than anything to discover that supernatural creatures were real. “It beats the scenario where I fried my brains out one too many times and went batshit, at least,” he’d explained. He had winked at Dean when he caught him looking at his drug stash, and by way of thanks he had welcomed him to anything he’d pleased. 

Well, Dean’s here to collect. 

Dave laughs when he sees Dean. “Look what the cat dragged in!” He chuckles, and ushers Dean inside. “Nice to see you still breathing.”

“It’s been a close call,” Dean tries to joke, vaguely gesturing towards his bruised face. Dave, thankfully, doesn’t ask. Instead, he gives Dean an appraising once over, his eyes oddly clear for a man who spends very little time sober. Dean knows that he’s seeing a sore sight tonight. Bruises aside, Dean feels like only half of the young man who once wrestled a witch while Sam and his father had chanted the countercurse needed to save Dave from an ugly end. Dave can tell this. Dean doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. 

“So what can I do for you, kid?” Dave says, his voice tender. 

“Just give me something,” Dean says, ashamed of how desperate he sounds, but not ashamed enough to stop. “It’s my fucking birthday and I just want to feel something...good. For a change.”

“I’ve got you, man,” Dave says, and goes to rummage around in a cabinet. 

Before Dean knows it, he’s rolling up a dollar bill and staring at an impressively large and somewhat intimidating line of what Dave proclaimed to be “the most potent shit you can find on the east coast”. Dean is pretty sure it’s cocaine, but he doesn’t even bother to ask. He knows if he thinks too hard about this he won’t follow through. 

He feels like an utter cliche when he bends down to do his line. It burns worse that any alcohol ever has, but in seconds he feels unlike anything he’s ever felt before. His brain is quiet, and what’s more, his brain is happy. He’s found his birthday euphoria. The RV fades, the monsters fade, and even thoughts of Sam fade. He has found peace.

The sound of his phone ringing feels distant, and he’d much rather focus on the rhythm of the ocean waves in the distance. 

“You gonna answer that?” Dave asks.

Dean looks down at his phone. It shines brightly as it buzzes, and he’s mesmerized by the way the light glints on the RV window. 

He looks down, and sees Sam’s number flashing on the screen.

His happiness cracks with guilt. 

It’s his twenty-second birthday and his brother is calling him, most likely to congratulate him surviving another year in the life of a hunter.  

He lets the phone go to voicemail while he does another line. The happiness returns. The last thing he thinks before he reaches oblivion is that his baby brother can never know of this. 


End file.
